


the lies we tell ourselves(and the ones we don’t)

by doctorsimmonswilson



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Jemma Simmons Needs a Hug, Post Season 7 Spec, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, slight TW: PTSD, they get therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24068209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorsimmonswilson/pseuds/doctorsimmonswilson
Summary: It never really hits right away; the pain. Jemma didn’t think it would come so much later.(written for a tumblr prompt: “You’re shaking.”)
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	the lies we tell ourselves(and the ones we don’t)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: @angryslytherin :)  
> all of my previous works are there, and I primarily post there.

She sat on the edge of the bed. It creaked slightly but the sudden screech rang like a scream throughout the silent bedroom. The silence, she thinks, it might kill her. So she leans foward, falling into a step, then two. She opens the window, the pouring rain and the thunder creating a nice contrast of sounds. She carefully steps back to the bed; again, she sits. 

She feels the weight shift, and the damn frame screeches again, as Fitz sits on the other side, taking off his shoes, sighing. 

“I was thinking pizza for dinner, yeah? Oh wait, did you...“ Jemma stops listening and she hears his jacket hit the bed. It sounded too loud. 

“...and he nearly exploded the whole bloody classroom, the idiot. You’d think with a PhD the kid would know a thing or two, but- are you listening?” Fitz now turns around toward his wife, “Jemma?”

Jemma doesn’t turn toward him, but pulls her feet underneath herself so she sits crisscross. Fitz comes around the bed to sit next to her. 

“I actually went to the therapist. You know, that one that was so kindly recommended to us. I actually went, Fitz,” Jemma’s eyes are puffy as she turns to face her husband. 

Fitz tilts his head, “Did it not go well?” He frowns at the notion, grabbing her hand.

“No, uh- in fact I think it was the opposite. It brought up so much that I feel like I’m living it all over again. All of it.” She continues to stare out the watery window.

“Is that why you were missing from lunch today? You told me you were stuck in traffic and you’d finish work from home.”

“I didn’t go in at all today. I thought I would after- but then I tried to sleep and all I could dream of was dying. I keep falling asleep and waking up. I kept thinking I was going to die. But every time I woke up in our cozy home and then I feel worse because I’m not going to die. 

I’m just going to have to live with the fear of it- only almost dying about a million times- and perhaps I’ll live like this forever. Wouldn’t it be funny, if I were immortal but cursed with the same dream of almost dying? It’d be like sad poetry.”

Fitz studies her for a moment. 

“Did it- did it help? Do you feel healed in any way? Because if it didn’t help, Jemma, we can find someone el-“

“Fitz,” she sighs, “it was my first time going. You told me that it took you seven appointments to feel anything had come of it. You had bad dreams that night.” Jemma shudders thinking of Fitz waking up in a cold sweat, muttering about the Doctor. 

“Yeah, but you’re not me. You hold things in until they broil over. Do you even want to talk about it, because we don’t have to discuss this, it’s your medical-“

“Stop! Clearly I do. If you would shut-“ Jemma stops herself. 

“Listen, I’m sorry Fitz. It’s been a long day. I haven’t anything this vividly since I got back from my first trip to space,” she says it bitingly, her tounge feeling like acid at the memory. She raises her hands in exasperation.

“Okay,” Fitz gently grabs her hands, “You’re shaking. It’s okay, Jemma. You can tell me or not tell me whatever you want. We can do whatever you want.”

Jemma slowly lowers her hands into her lap, Fitz not letting go. 

“Can we go to bed? I just- I want to go to bed, honestly. To try and really sleep,” she scoots back to lean her back against the headboard. Fitz follows suit. He pulls the covers from underneath them and Jemma pulls them far up to their shoulders. 

There are no words exchanged, but there is no need. They slowly melt into each other, clinging like they’ll drift far, far away if they ever let go. They both knew that the other needed to be held in this moment. Because that’s how they’d get through it all- together.


End file.
